


Como al sol, lo necesito yo

by legendofthefireemblem



Series: mix pa llorar en tu cuarto [1]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Eyes, M/M, Song: El muchacho de los ojos tristes, Songfic, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 09:29:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26969767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendofthefireemblem/pseuds/legendofthefireemblem
Summary: Esteban can’t look away from his neighbour’s eyes. Somehow, they’re expressionless.He wonders how it would look when he smiles.
Relationships: Esteban Ocon/Sergio Pérez
Series: mix pa llorar en tu cuarto [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018173
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	Como al sol, lo necesito yo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [untouchableocean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/untouchableocean/gifts).



> It's El muchacho Monday, everyone! Also Happy Thanksgiving to all the Canadians out there.

Esteban can't help but catch his neighbour's eyes every now and then. It's inevitable. Whether it's awkwardly opening his apartment door with an armful of groceries that threaten to spill out of the bags at any second or running up the staircase out of breath because he forgot his keys again or he's taking an extra long time locking up because he keeps getting distracted by his neighbour's hands — Esteban forces himself to look up as his neighbour finishes unlocking the door, sliding inside without any fanfare.

His dark, reflectionless eyes haunt him. Deep pools of brown that fold in on themselves. Captivating, but dead. Esteban can't help but wonder what killed them so.

Esteban knows he lives alone. There aren't any late night calls or early sneak-outs (although Esteban has had a few of his own). There's no loud sex to complain about, no arguments that have to be drowned out by blasting EDM at the highest possible volume on his stereo. No reason to go and knock on his door.

It doesn't stop him from trying to find a reason to go an introduce himself. Really, it's a few years too late for it, but it’s better late than never.

Right after he makes up his mind, his neighbour seems to just disappear. There are a few signs of life — the clattering of dishes and the relentless sound of the vacuum — but Esteban doesn't run into him outside for at least a week.

The realization that it distresses him so much distracts him for a month.

Is it normal to be so worried for someone you barely (don’t even) know? To wonder if they're doing alright, if they need help, if they have someone to look out for them? All he can think about as he hears the sound of the shower in the nearby apartment is his neighbour's eyes. Are they still sad? Still lonely?

His question is answered one chilly October day.

Esteban is wearing pyjamas; he usually doesn't bother to change out of them if he’s just doing a mail pickup. He's never doing that again in his life. His neighbour is fiddling with the keys, trying to get a proper grip with two armfuls of groceries.

"Are you having family over?"

The stare that his neighbour returns makes him wince. There's no early morning light reflected in his eyes. An eternity passes by.

"Let me help." Esteban fumbles with his mail, shoving it under his arm in order to grab two of the bags out of his neighbour's arms.

"Thanks." His neighbour gives him a small polite smile. It doesn't quite reach his eyes. He unlocks the door and steps inside. Esteban stands at the threshold of the apartment, cradling the bags. His neighbour pauses. Their eyes meet. "Come in."

"My name's Esteban." He blurts out. He can't go a second more without knowing his neighbour's name.

"Sergio." The corner of his eyes crinkle. "Call me Checo."

Esteban follows Sergio into the kitchen, unpacking groceries and passing them to him. The layout isn't much different than his own, but it seems nicer. The counters are clean and the sink is devoid of dishes. Esteban makes a note to wash the dishes when he gets back to his apartment.

"Thanks for helping."

"I'll see you around?" Esteban doesn't want to overstay his welcome. Sergio nods.

He can't open the door to his own apartment fast enough. Esteban runs to his bedroom, throwing off his shirt as he digs through his drawers. Finally, he grabs the least-wrinkled shirt.

There's a knock at the door. He stumbles, pulling on the shirt as he fumbles for the doorknob. He opens it.

Sergio stares at him. "You forgot your mail."

Esteban grabs the outstretched bundle of letters, pulling them close to his chest. "Thanks." He runs a hand through his hair. It refuses to stop sticking up in every which way. There’s a glint in Checo’s eyes as he turns to leave. "Wait!" Checo stops. "Do you want to come over for dinner tonight? You don't have family coming over, right?"

"What time?"

"Eight."

Checo’s eyes seem lighter in the morning sun. "I'll be here."

Esteban doesn't close the door until Checo and his eyes are out of sight.

* * *

He can't help himself. Checo’s warm smiling eyes invite the occasion. Esteban leans in and kisses him.

"What was that for?"

Esteban smiles. "I love your eyes."

"I hope you love me for more than that." Checo scoffs. His eyes are shining. Esteban knows his own are too.


End file.
